


Rasp

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Thorin, Ficlet, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:02:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3902314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back where they belong, Dwalin fits into Thorin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rasp

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Just Fem!Thorin” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/11476.html?thread=24009428#t24009428).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s the only one that can match her, keep up with her, even after all these years. He pins her up against the stone pillar, slips inside, holds onto her hips with his big, meaty hands, separated by too much fabric—all her long robes, armour, and fur. She’ll feel him against her later, bare flesh beneath the sheets, but it’s still midday and they have work to do. She’s found enough gold to dress herself like the queen she is, has all the others looking for her trophy, and she has her brave, loyal Dwalin fucking her hard against a wall. 

He fucks just like he used to. It’s passionate every time. He fills her with full, hard thrusts, his huge cock slamming up inside her and grinding in before it slips away, her walls convulsing around him. She loves the feel of him, loves how he knows, how he’s trained and tries, just how to please her, and loves, most of all, how much he _adores_ her in return. He would do anything for his queen. She knows that implicitly. But he loves her beyond her title, beyond even _Thorin Oakenshield_ , down to the very core of the dwarf she was, is, and becomes. He wraps one muscled arm around her waist, holding her up against him, the other running up her body. His broad fingers twist into her hair, tracing a braid he wove in himself, then weaving back to tangle in dark strands. 

She clutches at the scruff of his brown beard, only slightly specked with grey, and yanks him forward for a kiss. Their facial hair wars together, scratching and scraping, lips soft below that and tongues too eager. Dwalin can keep his head no matter how perilous the battle, but sometimes he seems to lose himself in Thorin, trembling about her, or maybe just bowing to follow her lead. She kisses him all the harder, tugs him closer, squeezes her thighs around his waist and bites into his lower lip, fighting back a growl. 

He makes her feel fierce, ferocious, possessive and powerful. He breaks away from her mouth and leaves it open like he wants to talk—tell her how beautiful she is again, how much he _worships_ her—but all he does is pant for breath. The heel of his rough palm presses into her cheek, his fingers back around her neck. His grip on her waist makes her arch. He pounds into her so hard that the stone complains behind them, and for a moment, Thorin almost worries it’ll fall. Dwalin’s a strong enough man with brutal enough thrusts to fuck the walls down. But she’s wild enough to take it, absorbing all that fire. 

Sometimes, they can go on and on. There were times in the old days, when they were young and she was a princess, hidden away in the depths of Erebor, tasting each other for hours upon hours. She’d ride his cock for as long as she could, then flip them over and have him fill her, again and again, until it became too much, and they’d unravel in a sweaty mess. The times since have been more fervent, rapid and cautious—a private romp against the trees or grass or raw dirt on the way. Now they have their home again, but they’re both bursting with _adrenaline_ , so much _gold_ , _promise_ , _everything they ever dreamed_ , and it’s all Thorin can do to last at all. 

Dwalin comes to it first. He usually does. They love each other equally, she thinks, but she considers him a man and he considers her a goddess. He presses his bald forehead against hers and groans, whispers, hoarse and hushed, “I have to pull out.”

She grabs the hair he has left, holding him close and hissing back, “Don’t you dare.”

He shakes his head, licks his lips and tries to mutter, while his hips grind in instead of thrust to try and hold himself back, “I shouldn’t get you pregnant...”

“Why not?” she asks, sincere but annoyed—he shouldn’t be worrying of this but _fucking her_ , and she clenches her channel tight around him to say that. He moans, his body shuddering. 

“I... I’m not worthy of a queen,” he grunts, gruff, too noble, like always. Then he adds, because he thinks her _better than a queen_ , “Nor of _you_.”

“Who is worthy, then?” It’s an old argument. Dwalin, _her Dwalin_ , has been there from the start. “You’re my best friend, the man that came all this way with me, never straying from my side, risking everything, loyal to the last.” She clenches again, harder, sucking at his fat cock and growling, “I want you, Dwalin, and I _will have you._ ”

He never disobeys. He bursts inside her as if by her order alone, filling her with a rush of hot, sticky seed to paint her stifling flesh. He keeps rutting into her, now holding her tight, turning her face to kiss him, cover her mouth again and again. It isn’t long before she follows, squelching her own juices while he’s still milking out his own. Her body seems to expand with their combined love, and she wishes, not for the first time, that she still had the plugs she used to. 

His cock stays for one for several minutes after. He doesn’t pull out until she pushes at his shoulders. Then they slump together, not to the floor but noticeably, all her royal attire too heavy. In thick furs and metal, she’s burning up. When she looks up at him, his eyes are so full of _love_ that it almost hurts to look at. The corners of his eyes look watery. She doesn’t know what to say.

She chuckles instead and kisses his nose, bringing a smile onto his face. 

Then she twists her fingers into his, ready to go try out her throne.


End file.
